


time for you and time for me

by missselene



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Communication, First Time, Insecure Sherlock, M/M, Overwhelmed Sherlock, Sex Fail, Virgin Sherlock, john has a huge cock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-13 00:39:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5687899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missselene/pseuds/missselene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John are finally together and are about to consummate their relationship. But they both have issues they'll need to overcome before they can have the first time they deserve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was time.

Sherlock looked at himself in the mirror, trying to calm his nerves. He was almost forty, for god’s sake, he thought impatiently, but of course, that was part of the problem: he was almost forty and he was about to have the first sexual experience of his life. 

Exactly two weeks ago, John had to Sherlock’s astonishment confessed he was in love with him. What followed (after Sherlock had got over his initial disbelief) had been quite simply the best two weeks of Sherlock’s life. Everything that Sherlock never dared to hope for had come true: hours spent kissing on the sofa, John holding him close and stroking his hair, being allowed to touch and smell and _taste_ John as much as he wanted. It had been pure bliss – but now it was time to move things a step further.

John had made it quite clear, of course, that he would give Sherlock all the time he needed, but enough of their make-out sessions had led to John all but rutting against Sherlock to leave no doubt in Sherlock’s mind that he didn’t want to keep him waiting, that _he_ didn’t want to wait any longer. Well… almost no doubt. He did want it, but in the privacy of his own mind he could admit that he was also slightly… terrified.

He had no reason to be, he knew that. Firstly, sex was a basic form of human behaviour, almost everyone engaged in it and there was absolutely nothing difficult about it, and secondly, he was about to do it with _John_ , whom he loved more than he’d ever thought possible and who, against all probability, loved him back. But once again, he found that what he felt was not based on logic.

He had thought about his apprehension extensively, and he thought that he knew where it stemmed from. The main root of the problem was that, up until now, his sexuality had been an entirely private thing and the only kind of sexual behaviour he had ever engaged in was (mostly quite perfunctory) masturbation. As such, Sherlock had grown accustomed to sexual release occurring in utter privacy, and to let someone take part in it now, after so long, felt like—it felt almost like he was about to let someone watch him as he emptied his bowels (and it didn’t help that, after he’d made this comparison in his head, he realised that in the activities they were most likely to engage in, traces of faecal matter couldn’t be entirely ruled out). He felt ridiculously embarrassed just thinking about it – how could he let John see the no doubt contorted, scrunched-up facial expressions, hear the ridiculous noises he would make? He would be panting and writhing and moaning and reacting without conscious thought and John would witness it – the thought was mortifying. He’d had sexual fantasies about John before, but those were blurry and really quite abstract – he’d never given much thought to the logistics of it before now.

And it didn’t really help that having had John’s erection pressed against his thigh or belly several times now, he had had to conclude that his previous guesstimates of John’s penis size when flaccid had entirely failed to predict how _huge_ he was when fully erect. Before, thinking about John’s above-average endowment had been mouth-wateringly arousing. Now, when it was no longer just a fantasy, it was… still arousing, but also just plain terrifying at the same time. Sherlock couldn’t imagine how something that big could possibly fit inside him… and that was most certainly what was going to happen.

John had told Sherlock quite emphatically that they never had to do anything Sherlock didn’t want to and Sherlock felt absolutely certain John would never pressure him into anything, but some of the behaviour John had displayed since they got together made it quite clear that what John meant by that was they would either have penetrative sex with Sherlock on the bottom, or not have sex at all. He didn’t seem to consider the option of doing anything else at all. It was subconscious, Sherlock was sure, but true: although John had managed to overcome his hang-ups about his attraction to men enough to admit his feelings for Sherlock and enter into a romantic relationship with him, he now felt a need to establish himself as “the man”in the relationship. He wasn’t aware he was doing it, and if someone asked him which one of them was “the girl”, John would no doubt point out in no uncertain terms that they were both men and then quite possibly punch the person in the face. But subconsciously, he had quite evidently decided that Sherlock should be the girl: if they were kissing lying down, he made sure Sherlock would be underneath him, if standing, Sherlock would be the one pressed against the wall, if sitting, Sherlock would be in his lap. Additionally, in the last two weeks John’s preference for beer over wine and action movies and sport matches over anything else on the telly had increased exponentially, he suddenly seemed to develop an interest in cars and lose any ability to tell colours apart, he ogled women as if it life depended on it and generally engaged in any kind of stereotypically male behaviour he could think of. Sherlock didn’t really mind: he was sure John would get over his macho phase soon enough, as he got over his internalized prejudices and realised that his masculinity was in fact still intact. And the fact that Sherlock had no sexual experience also meant he hadn’t developed any preferences: he would happily play any role John wanted him to.

Theoretically.

In practice, the fact that having sex with John unequivocally meant lying down letting himself be penetrated by the largest penis he had ever seen made him feel dangerously close to panicking. But he would do it. It was what John wanted – that John wanted Sherlock at all was a miracle; letting him choose how he would have him was the least Sherlock could do. And, Sherlock supposed, at least this way his inexperience wouldn’t matter so much – some skill was surely necessary when pleasuring one’s partner orally or manually, but this way? It should be enough to let John have his way with him.

Okay. Just get the first time over with – he was sure it would get easier after that. 

He hesitated several seconds further, he wondered how he should exit the bathroom. Naked? Underwear? Towel around the hips? Surely it would be a waste of time to get dressed. In the end, he opted for the clean pair of pants he’d laid out and his favourite blue dressing gown. Probably more modest than necessary, but there was nothing for it: he was, quite literally, a blushing virgin, and there was no need to make himself feel exposed for longer than he had to

Taking a deep breath, he left the bathroom.

John was sitting at the kitchen table, doing a crossword. 

“I thought you must’ve fallen asleep in there,” he remarked lightly, looked up and stilled suddenly, as if in surprise. Sherlock didn’t think he looked any different than usual, but something about his features had clearly caught John’s attention.

Sherlock cleared his throat awkwardly. “I think you should take me to bed, John,” he said, and _god,_ that sounded so _stupid._ But John evidently didn’t think so: his pupils dilated and nostrils flared in obvious arousal, and seeing John’s desire for him made something warm tingle in Sherlock’s stomach.

“Oh, god, yes,” John said and got up. “Are you sure, though?” he asked as he walked to Sherlock and cupped his face in his palms.

Sherlock nodded. He was sure he wanted to give John everything, and that should be enough.

John kissed him, soft and gentle. Sherlock let himself relax into the kiss – everything would be fine. This was John: John would be careful and gentle and loving.

“Do you have --?” John asked when they broke apart, voice husky.

“Everything, yes,” Sherlock said before John could finish the question. He’d made extensive preparations.

“Good boy,” John grinned at him, and oh, _oh,_ those words combined with that look made Sherlock’s entire body flush and his knees go weak. He caught John’s mouth with his again, kissing him hard, eager to earn John’s praise again.

“Come on, then” John breathed against Sherlock’s mouth, and then took Sherlock’s mouth in his, leading him to Sherlock’s bedroom.

As Sherlock looked at his bed, carefully made with fresh sheets in preparation for tonight’s activities, at the tubes and bottles of various kinds of lubricant and different condom types he’d laid out on the bedside table, he felt his resolution waver. Could he really go through with it? He wanted to, desperately, he wanted to give himself over to John so there could be no doubt in John’s mind that Sherlock was his, but the idea that _he_ would soon be having _sex_ seemed utterly unthinkable…

But then there were John’s arms on him, pulling him down to straddle John’s lap as John sat down on the bed.

“It’s okay,” John whispered as he ran his hands up Sherlock’s thighs and back and pulled him close. “We don’t do anything you don’t want, I promise. I love you.” He stroked soothingly up and down Sherlock’s back, not straying lower just yet. Sherlock exhaled shakily and wrapped his arms around John, pulling him as close to his chest as possible. As long as he could hold on to John, he would be fine.

“John,” he said, not really able to articulate anything else.

“Yes, love.”

Their position meant John had perfect access to Sherlock’s neck, and his breath ghosted over the sensitive skin there before he pressed his lips to Sherlock’s pulse point. Sherlock let his head fall to one side, exposing as much of his neck as possible, and John understood the invitation, kissing and licking and oh god, _sucking_ everywhere from Sherlock’s collar bone to his earlobe. Sherlock could no nothing but hold on to John for dear life and struggle to breathe as incredibly intense sensations coursed through him. John’s mouth on his skin was hot and maddening, the hand in his hair that sometimes stroked his scalp and sometimes just held his head in place felt _incredible_ and then John’s other hand sneaked down to Sherlock’s right buttock and _squeezed_. Sherlock’s hips stuttered forward, his own modest erection meeting John’s impressive one, and he yelped.

It was an utterly humiliating sound, but John didn’t seem to think so. He groaned and pulled Sherlock’s head down so that he could kiss his mouth, hot and wet and insistent, and Sherlock tangled his fingers in John’s hair and kissed back with all his might – at least this way he couldn’t make such ridiculous noises. 

John let his hand drop from Sherlock’s hair, and both of his hands found their way underneath Sherlock’s dressing gown, up and up his thighs until they reached his cotton-clad buttocks and pulled his hips forward, fingers splaying possessively. Sherlock couldn’t help but moan into John’s mouth as he met the hard denim-covered bulge again and again and again as John guided his pelvis forward. And then John’s hips were moving too, thrusting up to meet Sherlock and send sparks of liquid desire through Sherlock’s body. They were rutting together like animals but it felt so good so good so good, Sherlock had to stop kissing John in order to breathe as his hips drove forward of their own accord now, faster and faster and—

“Fuck, Sherlock,” John panted, stilling Sherlock hips and putting way too much distance between their straining erections. “You’re gonna make me come in my pants like a teenager.”

The wave of arousal that had been about to reach its peak only seconds before suddenly drained away, leaving Sherlock breathless as embarrassment flooded him instead. Oh god. What had he been doing? That had been just _foreplay_ but he’d let himself utterly lose control and he’d been humping John like a dog, completely forgetting that that wasn’t what he was here for and, he realised with horror as he cast his mind back, letting out a staccato of loud moans that sounded like a broken squeaky toy. No wonder John had stopped.

“Just let me get this off,” John said and gently pushed Sherlock off his lap. Sherlock crawled onto the bed and watched as John stripped. John was so good-looking; Sherlock felt an odd mixture of desire and embarrassment as he watched the movement of John’s abdominal muscles as he pulled his jumper over his head. Faced with John’s perfection and self-assurance, Sherlock felt even more self-conscious, and he was uncomfortably aware of the fact that his dressing gown had come undone during his previous shameful display and was now gaping open. He resisted the need to tie it securely closed again. Now was not the time for his ridiculous hang-ups. He was here so John could… _fuck him_ , he forced himself to think the words—Sherlock wasn’t going to ruin it for John by his misgivings or off-putting noises or by coming far too early in the proceedings in a totally inappropriate manner.

“Now, where were we,” John said as he kicked off his trousers and climbed on the bed. He’d left his pants on, which Sherlock was grateful for, because he felt that if he saw John’s impressive member now he might faint. The outline of it inside John’s boxers was enough to leave his mouth dry.

“I think I’ll take this off,” John whispered and pushed the dressing gown off Sherlock’s shoulders. There was an undignified moment as Sherlock got a bit tangled in it, but then the dressing gown was off and John was pulling him close again, naked chest to naked chest.

They lay down facing each other and John kissed him and kissed him, gentle but heated. His left arm stroked Sherlock’s side and then slipped to his belly and then lower, briefly brushing over Sherlock’s erection, and as he did that Sherlock realised his pants were actually wet from the amount of pre-ejaculate he’d leaked. To get his mind off the wave of shame he felt, he kissed John harder, opening his mouth wide for John’s tongue. John evidently liked that – he moaned deeply and pushed Sherlock on his back, pressing him into the mattress.

“John,” Sherlock gasped as John’s hands roamed over his body and John’s mouth attached itself to his left nipple, and then he had to bite his lips to prevent himself from whimpering.

John tugged at the band of Sherlock’s pants in a request for permission and Sherlock lifted his hips off the mattress, barely knowing what he was doing as John’s tongue circled his nipple. His entire body felt like it was on fire.

John had to detach himself from Sherlock as he pulled his pants down, and his heated gaze on him made Sherlock suddenly feel exposed, his scarred, thin body, his flushed skin, chest with uneven patches of hair, his below-average cock… Unable to help himself, he turned to his side and curled up, hiding his groin from John’s view.

“Oh, Sherlock,” John said gently and spooned up behind himself, putting an arm around Sherlock’s waist. “You’re gorgeous, love. You don’t need to hide from me.” He peppered kisses the back of Sherlock’s neck and stroked his stomach, and as he shifted Sherlock felt his erection press against his arse. What was he doing? John wanted to fuck him, and instead of letting him do that Sherlock was panicking about his looks. Preposterous. He took a calming breath and turned in John’s embrace to face him.

“There you are, beautiful,” John smiled at him as if Sherlock wasn’t being completely irrational, and kissed his lips. “You okay?”

Sherlock nodded and buried his face in John’s neck, breathing in his scent, letting it anchor him.

“It’s okay to be nervous,” John whispered to him. “I am, too. But you’re doing so well, Sherlock. You’re incredible.”

Sherlock sighed and shivered, the words of praise like a balm. Wasn’t it pathetic how much he needed them?

“I love you,” he murmured into John’s neck and then, trying to pull himself together and get on with things, he reached down John’s pants.

John’s cock was huge, yes, but it seemed to fit perfectly into Sherlock’s hand. It was hot and hard and smooth and it meant John wanted him, he wanted Sherlock, and Sherlock couldn’t possibly not give John what he wanted.

“God, Sherlock,” John sighed and shimmied his hips, tugging clumsily at his pants and pulling them down, giving Sherlock better access. 

It was perfect: utterly beautiful. Sherlock made a loose fist around John’s girth and stroked up and down tentatively. John hummed in appreciation and Sherlock tightened his grip and made his strokes firmer. He felt his focus sharpening, the world around fading away until all that was left was John’s flesh in his hand and John’s sighs of appreciation: “Fuck, Sherlock, you feel so good, so good, yeah…”

It was amazing, none of his previous fears mattered now because he was giving John pleasure and that was the only important thing in the world… until John caught his wrist and stilled his hand.

“This feels perfect, love, but I don’t want to come like this,” he said breathlessly, and Sherlock let go of him as if burnt. As he remembered that John’s cock was not supposed to fit in his hand but somewhere else entirely, the calm he’d felt dissipated, and he glanced towards his bedside table where the array of lubes and condoms was displayed. John followed his gaze.

“You really don’t leave anything to chance, do you?” he chuckled and reached for one of the tubes. Now that Sherlock thought about it, it had probably been stupid of him to get so many kinds, but the reviews online had been inconclusive and he wasn’t sure what John preferred…

“Sherlock.” The way John said his name made Sherlock look at him, and John stoked his hair several times, calming him. “It’ll be okay, I promise. I’ll start with my fingers, get you nice and ready…”

“I may be a virgin, John, but I know how it works,” Sherlock interrupted him, because if he had to listen to John describe what he was going to do to him, he would probably go crazy.

John smiled at him. “I’m sure you do. But I need you to know that I’ll be careful. If you need to stop or go slower or anything at all, tell me and we’ll do just that, okay?”

Sherlock nodded, but he knew already he would do no such thing. He needed to get through this. He needed to be the kind of partner John wanted. John gave him a scorching kiss, his tongue thrusting inside him just like his cock soon would, and Sherlock would let him, because Sherlock was John’s.

“Lie on your front,” John told him and gently guided him to lie with his hips resting on a pillow, his legs spread wide. It was a bit disappointing – Sherlock had hoped they could do this face to face, he was sure he would feel calmer if he could hold on to John, but this was for John, and this way at least he was less likely to notice if Sherlock panicked. 

John fumbled with the tube cap for a moment and Sherlock hugged a pillow to himself and tried not to feel too exposed. This was for John.

“It might feel a bit uncomfortable at first,” John said as he stroked Sherlock’s hip with one hand and the fingers of the other slipped between Sherlock’s arse cheeks, coated in cool lubricant, “but I promise I won’t hurt you. Just try to relax for me.”

John’s slick index finger pressed against the tight ring of muscle, teasing it lightly, and Sherlock’s entire body shuddered. He wanted it, he did, but it was so utterly overwhelming. He clutched the pillow tighter. For John. If John was with a woman, he wouldn’t have to go through this waste of time at all, so the least Sherlock could do was try not to make it last longer than necessary. He forced his pelvic muscles to relax.

John’s index finger pressed in slowly and Sherlock gasped. It didn’t hurt, but it felt like too much already, and it was just one finger. Sherlock focused on breathing through his nose and not on the fact that he was impaled on John’s index finger and how that must look.

“Very good, you’re doing perfectly,” John told him and Sherlock relaxed minutely. John’s finger wiggled inside him, stretching him. Sherlock held on to the pillow and breathed. He could get through this. Just stay calm and relaxed and everything would be fine. 

A second finger joined the first, stretching him further, pushing in deeper. John was talking to him in soothing whispers but Sherlock found he couldn’t make out the words anymore, he was too focused on breathing normally and keeping his muscles relaxed. And then John’s fingers curled and pressed and heat exploded inside Sherlock, intense pleasure spiking through him like an electric shock.

He cried out and jerked wildly, accidentally drawing John’s fingers deeper into himself. John murmured to him soothingly, stroking his side like he might do to a spooked horse. Sherlock gasped for air as the intensity receded, but then John found his prostate again. He teased it gently, sending wave after wave of overpowering pleasure through Sherlock’s body.

He could feel he was drenched in sweat and there didn’t seem to be enough air to breathe. John had three fingers inside him now, pushing them in and out in measured thrusts, rubbing Sherlock’s prostate every single time. Sherlock was harder than he’d ever been in his life, he was so hard it almost hurt and he could feel himself leaking on the pillow underneath his hips as he rutted against it in an involuntary movement he couldn’t stop. He needed friction, needed relief, needed _John_ and he couldn’t get any of it. His cock was sliding against wet cotton and it was not enough John’s fingers were driving into him and it was too much and his only points of contact with John were the fingers inside him and the hand on his hip and the lube made ugly squelching noises and John was murmuring incomprehensible words and Sherlock was moaning, loud desperate keening sounds, and he couldn’t breathe, his heart was hammering, he was going to hyperventilate and have a panic attack unless he stopped it, he had to stop it, he couldn’t ruin this for John, he couldn’t he couldn’t he couldn’t—

His mind palace was quiet and calm. Redbeard ran to him and licked his face and Sherlock’s heartbeat slowed as he took a deep, steady breath.


	2. Chapter 2

“Sherlock! Sherlock!”

Sherlock’s eyes blinked open and he saw John’s face, awash with worry.

“John,” he croaked, trying to sit up.

“Thank god,” John said, running his hand through Sherlock’s hair. “What happened?”

Gradually, Sherlock became aware of where he was: in his bed, naked, cooling sweat on his skin and unmistakable signs of receding arousal. In a rush, he remembered what had happened.

“I… slipped into my mind palace,” he admitted, a horrible feeling dawning on him.

“What? You went into your mind palace while we were having sex?! Why?” John was going to be angry. Of course he was. Sherlock had just absolutely ruined their first time, hadn’t he?

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking down. “It wasn’t entirely on purpose.” He was naked and he could feel lube between his buttocks. He shivered in shame.

“Not entirely on purpose? What does that mean?” John asked. He sounded upset, but he still cared enough to cover Sherlock with the duvet, giving him at least a little bit of dignity. He didn’t seem to mind that he was stark naked, too.

“I – it was – I needed to calm down and I couldn’t, I didn’t want to do it like this but I couldn’t control it anymore, I just needed…” _it to stop,_ he didn’t say, but it was as if John had heard him. Colour drained from his face.

“Sherlock,” he said softly, touching Sherlock’s face again. “Why did you feel you needed to calm down? Was I – was I hurting you?” he asked barely above a whisper.

“No! It wasn’t your fault, I just… it was too much and I couldn’t focus, I’m sorry, I didn’t want to ruin it like that.” He felt like there was a block of ice lodged in his chest. Would John give him another chance? But why should he want someone who couldn’t manage something as simple as _lie still?_

“Hey, hey,” John said gently, pulling Sherlock into his arms, and only then did Sherlock notice he’d started shaking violently. Sherlock let himself be pulled against John’s chest, resting his head on his shoulder. He didn’t deserve this, but he needed the comfort desperately. “It’s okay, you’re okay. I’m not angry. I’m just trying to understand what happened. Can you tell me?”

Sherlock opened his mouth, but he couldn’t. How could he possibly explain to John that he was clearly too much of a freak to have sex with him? He felt tears prickle behind his eyes and made hid his face in the crook of John’s neck instead. He was utterly pathetic. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again.

John stroked his hair a few times, clearly thinking.

“You said it was too much. Does that mean you got, I don’t know, overwhelmed? It was too intense?”

Sherlock nodded against John’s neck. 

“But you didn’t think you could tell me? I told you we would stop whenever you wanted to, didn’t you believe that?” John’s voice sounded heartbroken. How could Sherlock have failed so badly?

“I did, I knew you would’ve stopped, but I didn’t _want_ to stop, I just wanted to get myself under control.”

“You were panicking,” John said in a flat voice.

“A bit,” Sherlock admitted.

John sighed deeply, and then tightened his arms around Sherlock.

“I’m so sorry, love. I thought… the sounds you were making, I honestly thought you were enjoying it.”

“I was!” Sherlock insisted. His body had been incredibly aroused, but apparently his _precious_ mind couldn’t handle it. “Only then it got too much, it wasn’t your fault.”

John shook his head. “I should have noticed. But, Sherlock, you should have told me. Do you have any idea how frightening it was when you suddenly went unresponsive on me?”

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to keep apologising, I get that you didn’t mean to do that. But I need to know when things aren’t okay for you. I’d much rather stop than have you panicking.”

“I thought I could handle it. I wanted…” _I wanted to be good for you_ , he almost said, but it was so desperate and needy he couldn’t possibly get it past his lips. “I didn’t want to have to stop,” he said weakly instead.

John kissed the top of his head. He was clearly still upset, but he wasn’t rejecting Sherlock, and that was the main thing. Sherlock would do all he could to deserve it.

“Sherlock,” John said and touched Sherlock’s chin lightly to make Sherlock look up at him. “I love you. I promise I’ll take better care of you next time, but I need you to tell me if something’s wrong. Anything at all. Can you do that? Will you tell me?” John’s eyes were earnest, his tone gentle but uncompromising. Sherlock couldn’t refuse him anything.

“Yes,” he promised, even though he had no idea how he would go about that.

“Good,” John smiled at him, but not even that loving smile could calm the nervous roiling in Sherlock’s stomach. “We also need to talk about what it was that you found so overwhelming so that we can avoid it. But we can do that in the morning, you look done in.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock sighed in relief, because the answer to that question was _everything_ , and he couldn’t possibly tell John that. He let himself collapse back on John’s chest, soaking up his warmth. John was so good to him, so caring and patient, and Sherlock _needed_ to find a way to make it worth it for him.

By morning, he had come up with a sort of plan.

His objective was to provide John with a satisfactory sexual encounter. It didn’t have to be the best sex of John’s life just yet – Sherlock knew he simply couldn’t manage much more than staying still and letting John do all the work, but he had to manage at least _that_. At the same time, however, he had promised to tell John if something was wrong, which would be incredibly counterproductive, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to go so directly against John’s wishes.

The key, then, was not to let things go that far. The whole thing had to be over before Sherlock could lose control. He had to stay calm and present throughout. To achieve that, he had to avoid the amount of stimuli that overwhelmed him yesterday – it was true that in the end absolutely everything had felt like _too much_ , but what he had found the most intense was the penetration and prostate stimulation. He couldn’t completely avoid that, given that penetration was the whole point, but he could minimise it. First of all, he couldn’t hope to take John’s cock in if just his fingers made him go out of his mind, so he would have to prepare himself – he could avoid his prostate entirely and stay focused. Secondly, his extensive research indicated that “doggie style” was one of the easiest position for first-time anal sex, and it had the added benefit that there would be nothing touching his penis, John would be less likely to hit his prostate directly and Sherlock would be able to adjust the angle a bit to find the one that would be the least overwhelming. If things were different, he would have preferred to be on his back and wrap his arms and legs around John, but he knew there was no chance he could manage that tonight.

Hopefully, this way he would be able to take it until John reached his orgasm. It had been quite a long time since the last time John had sex and the anal canal was supposed to be significantly tighter than the vagina, which was what John was used to, so with any luck it wouldn’t take too long. If Sherlock focused on John and tried to take his mind off his own bodily sensations, he should be able to avoid getting overwhelmed to the point of near panic again, which would certainly count as things being wrong (as would pain, he supposed) and he’d have to tell John, but a certain level of unease or discomfort would be acceptable, wouldn’t it? It wouldn’t be _wrong,_ just not entirely ideal. It didn’t matter to him whether he enjoyed it as long as John did: that would be reward enough for him.

Having decided on a course of action, he felt much better. In the morning, he explained to John that the day before things had been a bit too drawn out for him as he was used to getting off quickly, that he needed less stimulation to avoid getting overwhelmed and that it would help him if he could prepare himself. John seemed a bit puzzled by his requests, but he agreed readily and was mostly intent on making sure Sherlock was certain he didn’t want to wait before trying again.

The faint confidence Sherlock felt in the morning progressively dissipated as the day went on. This was his last chance. One failure could perhaps be tolerated, but two would be unacceptable. Sherlock wasn’t nearly good enough for John as it was and if on top of it he couldn’t even give him sex, why should John stay with him? John was incredibly attractive, he’d have no trouble finding someone else, someone capable of meeting his needs. Sherlock couldn’t let that happen.

By the afternoon it was beginning to look like he would work himself into a panic before they even started, so he had to act. He’d been vaguely hoping they could maybe do it in the dark so that at least he wouldn’t have to worry so much about what he looked like to John, but he couldn’t risk waiting any longer, and so when he was (pretending to be) reading on the sofa and John joined him for a bit of a cuddle, he used the opportunity.

He knew exactly by now what turned John on: kiss eagerly and messily but be pliant and tractable at the same time, invite John’s tongue in, pull John on top of him, give into his natural tendency to cling to John and seek as much contact with his body as possible. It turned Sherlock on too: it was a heady feeling, to make himself a little bit submissive and surrender to John. If only he could manage during actual sex, if only it didn’t make his brain go into overdrive after a while – but it wouldn’t today. It would work.

He was so nervous he didn’t get half as hard as he usually would have, but that was a good thing: the less aroused he was, the less likely it was he would get overstimulated. And John didn’t seem to have the same problem, which was all that mattered.

“Are you sure?” John asked again as Sherlock started undoing John’s belt.

“Yes,” Sherlock said and unzipped John’s trousers so that there could really be no mistaking his meaning. “I want you,” he added, feeling a bit silly even though it was true.

John kissed him hard.

“Will you go get ready, then?” he breathed against Sherlock’s lips. “If you’re still sure you’d rather do it yourself.”

“Yes,” Sherlock said again. That was all he wanted to say to John today, anyway: yes to anything.

“And I don’t suppose you’d let me watch.”

Sherlock’s breath stuttered – this was something he didn’t want to say yes to, but there was real interest in John’s voice, and he didn’t want to refuse him…

“It’s okay, I get it,” John said, correctly interpreting Sherlock’s hesitation. “I’ll be thinking about it, though,” he added with a cheeky grin as he sat up to let Sherlock get on the sofa. The idea made Sherlock flustered, and he kissed John to hide it, slipping his hand inside his open trousers to give his cock a quick, firm rub.

Once Sherlock had closed himself in the bathroom, he turned on all the taps on full to hide any noise he might make. The fact that John knew he was fingering himself was disconcerting enough – if he _listened to him_ , Sherlock would die of embarrassment.

He did it quickly, ignoring any discomfort he felt. His fingers were larger than John’s and having two of them inside him already made him feel uncomfortably full, but he forced himself to accept a third – John would be much wider. He wasn’t nearly as thorough as John would have been and he knew it would probably hurt when John entered him, but that didn’t matter: he had to be quick and efficient now, not give himself time to think about it too much and lose his nerve. 

He felt like he was gaping open when he left the bathroom, naked and slick with lube, to join John in the bedroom. John had drawn the curtains, making the room pleasantly dim, which Sherlock was incredibly thankful for. He was sitting on the bed in just his boxers and his erection didn’t seem to have flagged at all as he’d waited – had thinking about what Sherlock was doing really been turning him on so much? Sherlock felt himself flush.

John looked at him with hungry eyes and Sherlock moved to the bed quickly, trying to escape the heat of his gaze.

“Hello, beautiful,” John said as Sherlock joined him on the bed and cupped his face gently. “Everything okay?”

Sherlock nodded, mentally trying to convince himself that it was. 

“Kiss me,” he said, and John did. Sherlock concentrated on kissing him the way John liked it, hoping the kiss would distract him from his nerves and prevent John from noticing. He pressed a hand to John’s groin to palm him through his boxers, and the way John hummed into his mouth at the sensation sent a thrill through him. John wanted him, desired him, and Sherlock could _not_ disappoint him again.

“I love you,” John whispered as he broke the kiss to gasp for air. _Don’t disappoint him,_ Sherlock thought with even more intensity, and reached to the bedside table for a condom.

“Now, John, please,” he said, tugging at John’s boxers to pull them down, letting his erection spring free. He tried not to think about how thick it was in relation to how wide he’d stretched himself, tried not to factor in how much his muscles would have contracted in the time that had elapsed. It would be fine. John would fuck him and it would be fine.

John struggled out of his pants and then reached for the condom wrapper that Sherlock was clumsily trying to open – his hands were shaking.

“Let me,” John said softly and took it from him, but he didn’t open it yet. Instead, he sought out Sherlock’s eyes, looking at him intently.

“Are you sure you’re okay? Not getting overwhelmed?”

“Fine,” Sherlock said, surprised at how certain he sounded. “Just – a bit nervous.” That was all it was. He was just nervous, and John had said that was okay. 

John pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. “Just try to relax. Everything will be fine, we can stop at any time. If there’s anything you need, just tell me.”

“You,” Sherlock said, utterly sincere. “I need you.”

The condom almost fell out of John’s hands in his haste to get it open. Sherlock watched as he rolled it on, his heart picking up speed. It was going to be fine. He wouldn’t fail John this time. _Just breathe._

He got the lube and spread it on John himself – he actually enjoyed that, letting John’s cock slide between his fingers, listening to John’s sighs, but there was no time to dwell on it now. His heart was hammering and it felt like the weight of his need not to disappoint John was going to crush him. He needed to get this over with.

He let go of John and scrambled to his hands and knees, grateful that at least this way his face would be hidden from John’s view. The anticipation would be over soon, in just a few moments John would push in and then he would be _inside him_ , they’d be closer than close and then John would fuck him, driving his thick cock in and in until he came, taking pleasure from Sherlock’s body, and then it would be over and Sherlock would not have failed.

John pressed two fingers inside him, not teasing, just checking he was adequately stretched and adding more lube. Sherlock bit his lip to stifle a whimper. He was ready for John, wet and spread wide open, ready to be taken. He just needed it over. 

John would hate it if he knew that was how Sherlock felt. 

There was a hand on his hip, steadying him, positioning him.

There was no way Sherlock could avoid failing John, was there? Either he wouldn’t manage to go through with it, or he would, but if then John found out how Sherlock had felt about it, he would be incredibly disappointed. John would never willingly have sex with someone who was less than 100% certain they wanted it.

He felt the blunt head of John’s cock at his entrance.

It was all wrong, all wrong, and he could never get it right, could he?

John pushed in, slowly, splitting Sherlock open.

Sherlock shouted, and only when John immediately pulled out did he realise that what he’d shouted was “no”.

White noise filled his ears and he could barely interpret John’s concerned questions. He’d done it. Ruined everything. He’d got as far as being on all fours with the tip of John’s cock inside him and hadn’t managed to go through with it and now John would leave.

“Sherlock, love, tell me what’s wrong,” John pleaded, and when Sherlock finally managed to look at him his face was pinched in worry.

“Nothing.” Sherlock’s tongue felt thick and heavy in his mouth, barely able to move. “I – overreacted. Please go on.”

“What? That didn’t sound like _nothing_ to me.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Sherlock forced through his teeth. “Just get on with it and fuck me!”

He felt John freeze beside him, but he couldn’t deduce why. There was only the ringing sense of failure and impending doom filling his brain.

John’s hands touched his hips and for a second he though John was going to do it, but then he realised John was gently pulling him down from his position, lowering him on the bed.

“Sit down; you’re shaking.” It was true, Sherlock noticed as John said it: his body was wracked with tremors.

“You don’t want to do it, do you,” John said, and the tone of his voice cut into Sherlock’s heart like a knife. “You only went along with it for my sake.”

Sherlock looked at him, forcing himself to push through the fog that was clouding his mind.

“I do want it,” he said. His voice sounded weak, but he couldn’t seem to find the strength for anything more. “I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you, John. But I just _can’t,_ there’s something wrong with me and I _can’t_ —”

“Sherlock.”

Sherlock reached for John, desperate.

“But John, if you could just ignore it, I _know_ it would be all right if I only managed to get through it the first time, it would be fine after that, I’m sure of it, _please_ —“

“Sherlock! Do you seriously think I want to fuck someone who has to force himself to bear it?”

“It wouldn’t be like that, John, you’d have my full consent and it would be just once,” Sherlock pleaded. He could feel hysteria creeping up on him and he was no longer fully aware of what he was saying.

“Stop it!” John shouted, his voice pained and angry. “Don’t you see how wrong this is?”

A sudden surge of nausea roiled in Sherlock’s stomach.

“I’m sorry,” he managed to get out before he had to scramble out of bed and run for the bathroom, his legs nearly giving out under him.

He leaned on the sink and retched but nothing came up. Then a huge, dry sob tore itself painfully from his chest and he sunk to the floor, letting waves defeat and despair tear through his useless body.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock didn’t notice that the door had opened and John had come in until he felt John’s hands on his shoulders, draping his dressing gown over his trembling form. Sherlock glanced at him through tear-wet eyelashes, but couldn’t bear to really look at his face, afraid what he’d see there.

John sat down next to him, hesitantly putting his hand on Sherlock’s back, as if unsure he could touch him – or maybe he didn’t want to touch him anymore.

“I shouldn’t have shouted at you. I’m sorry,” John said, and it was completely ridiculous – why on earth should _John_ apologise to _Sherlock_? He was more than entitled to shout at Sherlock. Sherlock rested his forehead on his knees, curling himself up as tight as possible.  
“Oh, Sherlock,” John sighed, and then he wrapped his arms around Sherlock, pulling him close. “It’ll be all right, I promise. We’ll figure it out.”

Sherlock’s entire body stilled. John still wanted to be with him? Breath left Sherlock’s lungs in a rush of relief, immediately followed by a wave of near panic because there was no point, Sherlock would just fail one more time and it would be all the more crushing.

“I can’t,” he mumbled into the darkness between his thighs and chest, and wasn’t it symbolic that this was he was talking to his limp penis?

John kissed the crown of his head and continued to hold him. “Can’t what?”

Did he really have to make Sherlock say it? 

“I can’t give you what you need.” The words were like a grater in Sherlock’s throat.

“Sherlock, look at me.” John said, and Sherlock forced himself to lift his head. John’s face was sad but earnest and brimming with so much love and affection it almost stopped Sherlock’s heart “You can. You can and you _do_. We’ll have to talk about this but I need you to know that even if we never have sex I’ll still love you and want to be with you. Just tell me honestly what’s going on and we’ll figure it out. Can you do that?”

_John._ John was so incredibly good to him. How could Sherlock ever hope to deserve him?

He nodded. He’d do whatever John wanted.

“Good.” John pressed a brief kiss to his lips and tugged at Sherlock’ elbows. “Come on, let’s get you up. The floor’s cold.”

Once they stood up, John straightened Sherlock’s dressing gown, tightening it around his waist. Sherlock felt foolish, essentially getting dressed by John, but also… _cared for_. It was the oddest feeling.

John gave him a small smile. “Now. I’ll make us a cup of tea and then we’ll talk, all right?”

Sherlock nodded again. “I’ll just…” he gestured vaguely towards the sink, acutely conscious of his puffy eyes and the stickiness between his buttocks. 

John left him to it, and Sherlock splashed cold water on his face. He’d have to do as John asked and admit to his fears and shortcomings – as ridiculous as they were – and hope that John could understand.

He washed away the drying remnants of lube and put on his pyjamas – he needed to be fully covered for this conversion, but he didn’t feel he had the strength to get properly dressed.

He went to the living room and sat on the sofa, hugging his knees to his chest. John had said they’d figure it out – he had to trust John.

“Here you go.” John handed him a mug of tea and sat down next to him. He was fully dressed but he looked careworn, and Sherlock hated that he’d done this to him – caused so much unnecessary trouble.

John sat down next to him. For a moment they just sat in silence, staring at their mugs of tea, and Sherlock desperately tried to come up with something less pathetic to say than “I’m so sorry please don’t break up with me”.

“All right,” John sighed after a while. “I know we’re both shit at talking about this kind of stuff but we really have to. I guess – I guess the main think I need to know is if you actually want to have sex, or if you just did it because of me. And there’s _nothing wrong_ with it if you don’t want to, I just need to know the truth.”

“Yes, I do,” Sherlock said firmly, a little annoyed that he had to repeat it again. “But it’s… difficult for me.”

“Okay,” John said haltingly “Can you explain how?”

Sherlock thought about it, trying to put his illogical feelings into words.

“There’s more than one reason,” he said after taking a thoughtful sip of his tea. “Mostly, it’s… embarrassing.”

“In what way?”

Sherlock felt himself turn crimson, and he couldn’t look at John for the life of him. “It’s… I… I feel like… I shouldn’t be seen like that,” he got out with difficulty, and he had to put his tea on the coffee table to avoid spilling it in his shaking hands.

“You’re not used to that level of intimacy,” John said slowly.

“Yes,” Sherlock agreed, finally looking up at John, grateful that John had found such a neat way to phrase it.

“That makes sense,” John said thoughtfully. “I should’ve thought of that, you’re—such a private person. But, look.” John set his own cup down and reached for Sherlock’s hand instead, squeezing it. “If you’re embarrassed about what you look like, or how you sound or whatever – chances are it’s probably incredibly hot to me. So try thinking about that? And even if it isn’t hot, no one will ever know but me, and I won’t… laugh at you, if that’s what you’re worried about. Maybe it’ll be funny and then we’ll _both_ laugh, but I’ll never mock you and I certainly won’t love you any less.”

Sherlock nodded – he had sort of already known that, in theory, but he tried to etch John’s words to his memory along with the sincere look in his eyes nevertheless, hoping he would be able to remember it in the moment… if there actually was going to be a next time.

Taking a deep breath, he pressed on.

“And I… I’m… I hate not really knowing what to do,” he admitted, looking at his and John’s entwined fingers. “I’m worried I won’t be… good enough.” He felt so childish in his need for reassurance, but it was the truth, and he owed John that.

“Oh, love,” John said, squeezing Sherlock’s hand. Sherlock kept his eyes resolutely down. “Nobody’s perfect the first time around – and I don’t just mean the first time ever, but the first time with a new partner. There’s a learning curve, but you’re the fastest learner I know. And… well. You know I’ve never been with a man before, so it’s new for me too.” He cleared his throat – clearly he wasn’t very comfortable with the topic either. “But we’ll muddle through together, we always do.”

Sherlock felt the corner of his mouth curl up. “That we do.”

“Come here,” John murmured, letting go of Sherlock’s hand and wrapping his arms around him. “You’ll never not be good enough for me, Sherlock,” he whispered, his breath warm on Sherlock’s ear. “Please try not to worry about that. You’re _exactly right_ for me.”

Sherlock shivered at John’s words. He hadn’t realised how much he needed to hear them. He let himself relax into John’s arms, allowing John’s warm embrace and obviously heartfelt reassurance to soothe him. John loved him: he’d be all right.

“What about the things that make you overwhelmed?” John asked softly.

“It’s—all of it, really,” Sherlock said. He closed his eyes and focused on John’s warm, solid body against his, rather than on what he was saying, letting it pour out. “There’s so many sensations and – and I have to think about everything and it all becomes too much.”

John hummed in response, and Sherlock could almost hear him thinking, trying to understand what Sherlock meant, to figure out how he could make things easier for him. Sherlock’s heart swelled with love and gratitude. He sat up abruptly, disengaging himself from John’s arms so that he could face him.

“John, I’m really sorry I’ve made it so complicated.”

John sighed. “Stop apologising. The only thing you did wrong was not telling me how you felt, and I’m equally to blame for that because I obviously didn’t make it clear enough that I wanted to know and that your wants and wishes are no less important than mine. I never meant to make you feel like you _had_ to do something to please me.”

“John,” Sherlock said seriously. “I hope you realise that you didn’t _make_ me do anything I didn’t want. I made my own decisions and I did it all willingly.”

“Maybe.” The downward turn of John’s mouth was heart-breaking. “But you were uncomfortable, and I shouldn’t have let that happen.”

Sherlock was silent for a moment, trying to find a way to make John realise that none of this was his fault. “It didn’t matter to me, John, I was—”

“But it matters to me, Sherlock!” John interrupted him. “That’s not how I want it to happen. I want to make love to you, not—get off while you’re panicking or struggling not to or gritting your teeth to bear it.”

_Make love._ Sherlock turned the words around in his mind, trying to pinpoint what they meant, what they meant to John. As Sherlock had already established, John wanted to fuck him, but also take care of him, and Sherlock hadn’t really let him do that, had he? And—did one of them have to make love to the other, or could it be mutual? Because that was exactly what Sherlock wanted to do, he realised with a sudden blinding clarity, that was exactly the right term for it: he wanted to make love to John. Not by fucking him (not unless John decided he wanted that, and that didn’t seem likely at the moment) but by using his body to give John pleasure, in any way that John liked.

“What if I wanted to make love to you?” Sherlock asked before he could think about it.

John startled, and wasn’t quite able to hide the look of pure panic that crossed his features.

“Oh, relax,” Sherlock said with a hint of sneer to his voice. He felt like he was being flayed open by this conversation, having to put his innermost feelings on display, and it was tempting to lash out in self-defence. “You’re used to being the penetrating partner and you’re obviously determined that it should stay that way; I have no intention of going against that. I meant I could… pleasure you in other ways,” he felt himself blush at the words but struggled through. “With my hands? I know it wouldn’t be as good, but I’d like to be able to give you at least something.”

John said nothing. It was probably a stupid idea. John had seemed to like it when Sherlock stroked him yesterday, but what could Sherlock’s inexperienced hands offer that John couldn’t do better himself?

“Or my mouth,” he added weakly. “I could try—“

“ _Fuck,_ ” John said, and for a second it wasn’t clear to Sherlock whether he meant it as an expletive or if he was simply stating what he wanted to do instead of Sherlock’s lame offers. “I’m such an idiot.”

John turned to look at him, eyes wide and horrified. “I did that, didn’t I? I just—I just _decided_ what kind of sex we’d have and I didn’t let you have a say in it.”

“It’s only natural that you’d assume the role you’re used to,” Sherlock pointed out. “I don’t mind.”

“You clearly _do!_ You fucking panicked, Sherlock!” He rose of the sofa, and Sherlock could almost see the rage surging up in him. “And I _knew_ it was your first time and I _knew_ you were nervous and I still decided that the best thing to do with a nervous virgin was to shove my dick up his arse, no questions asked! Who the fuck does that? And – oh my god, I can’t believe this! Even after you _freaked out on me_ I didn’t stop to think that maybe it would be a good idea to start with something else!”

He stopped and stood in the middle of the living room, breathing heavily. Sherlock was too shocked by the outburst to do anything but stare.

“I need a drink,” John announced and stalked off to the kitchen. He was back within moments with a bottle of whisky and a tumbler, and his hands shook as he poured himself a sloppy glass.

“John,” Sherlock said hesitantly, not really sure what he wanted say. He hated John blaming himself, but he knew it was true that their sexual attempts would probably have gone better if penetration hadn’t been part of them.

“I’m sorry,” John said after taking a swig of his drink. “For shouting, and for being such a piss-poor boyfriend.”

Sherlock blinked at him. It still felt so odd to think of John as his _boyfriend_. So odd and _so good_. “You’re the best boyfriend I’ve ever had.”

John glanced at him and then chuckled, some of the tension seeping out of him. Sherlock gave him a wry smile.

“John,” Sherlock tried again as John sat back down. “I want to—do that. Have your dick up my arse,” he added for clarification, and John chuckled next to him, which more than made up for how awkward Sherlock felt saying the words. “But it’s true that it feels… rather intimidating, especially given that you’re quite… well-endowed.”

John actually went slightly pink at that, which Sherlock found fascinating, because surely he must have been aware he was above average. It was bound to have been a source of pride and admiration from his past lovers.

John briefly covered his face with his hands. “Yeah,” he mumbled, and then looked at Sherlock. “I’m sorry. We don’t have to do that, not ever, and certainly not before you feel completely ready.”

“That’s why I asked about… making love to you. I was wondering if you could be… satisfied with other forms of stimulation, at least for a while.”

“Sherlock.” John took Sherlock’s head in his hands, looking him in the eye. “I’m finally able to be with the love of my life, I swear I’d be satisfied if all we ever did was kiss. If you feel comfortable with anything more I’ll be ecstatic because I’m obviously incredibly attracted to you, but I want you to know that it’s _not_ a requirement.”

_The love of my life_. Sherlock felt warm all over. He knew John loved him – John found talking about feelings so difficult that when he did there could be no doubt he meant it – but hearing him say it like that, along with assurances that Sherlock was enough the way he was… it was almost too much.

He all but threw himself at John, needing desperately to be close, to be held, to bask in the reassurance that he wasn’t, after all, a complete failure. John staggered a little under Sherlock’s weight but he accepted him into his arms readily, shifting a bit so that he could lean against the backrest and pull Sherlock against his chest.

“I want to do that,” Sherlock said. “I want to use my hands on you. I, um. I enjoyed doing it yesterday.” For god’s sake, was he ever going start talking like an adult? Just say _I want to give you a handjob, John,_ what was so difficult about that?

“You did? That’s, um, good.” John cleared his throat awkwardly. “I’ll definitely not stop you. Your hands are amazing and I – should probably not thing about them in so much detail right now,” he added and then shifted his hips and… _Oh_. He found it arousing to think about Sherlock stroking him. The realisation felt so good Sherlock forgot to breathe for a moment.

“What else would you want?” John asked quietly, his fingers stroking through Sherlock’s hair. “And I mean for yourself now. What would make you comfortable, what would you enjoy?”

Sherlock hesitated. “I—I don’t know,” he said, feeling stupid. “Anything. I haven’t exactly had the opportunity to form preferences.”

“Yeah, but. Surely there are things that seem more appealing than others. And—well. I suppose I’d like you to tell me what didn’t work for you from what we did, and what you think you’d like to do instead. Regardless of what you think I want.” He tightened his hold on Sherlock, kissing the top of his head. “Take your time to think about it if you need to.”

Sherlock was quiet for a moment. He listened to the beat of John’s heart and tried to think about it. What he wanted the most was to give John what he needed, to be good for him, to know that he was enough. There wasn’t anything more erotic to him than the idea of being able to meet John’s sexual needs, but he knew John wasn’t asking about that. It was hard to think past it, to disregard John and think about himself, but he tried because John had asked him to.

“I’d… I’d like to avoid any kind of penetration for now,” he said eventually, because that was clear. There was something deeply intimate about having a part John inside him, and he craved that level of intimacy but also knew he wasn’t quite ready for it yet. “It’s not that it’s unappealing, just… too intense.”

“Okay,” John said immediately. “No penetration. What else?”

“I like to be close to you. Whatever we do, I think I’d prefer to be face to face. And… touch you. I want to be able to touch you everywhere.” He felt his cheeks redden and he turned his head to hide his face against John’s chest. 

“What about me touching you?” John asked. “Is that okay, or would it be overwhelming?”

Sherlock thought about it, about the way John’s hands had felt on his heated skin, stroking and groping and teasing.

“I want you to touch me,” he said carefully, “but it _can_ get overwhelming, so… not too much?” It was incredibly vague, but he didn’t know how to phrase it more specifically. “I think I’d like to be the one doing most of the touching… for now.”

“Okay, love,” John said, holding Sherlock tighter. “Whatever you need. I’ll always ask you before I do something, does that sound good? And you’ll tell me if there’s anything you don’t like, or anything you’d like to change, all right?”

“Yes, John,” Sherlock said, lifting his head from John’s chest to look up at him. It felt like a huge weight had lifted from his chest: he’d laid himself bare for John, and John had accepted him.

“Good,” John said. He cupped Sherlock’s cheek, stroking the soft skin under Sherlock’s eye. “Is there anything else I need to know?”

“I love you,” Sherlock said, so full of the feeling he felt like it was spilling out of his every pore. “I love you.”


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning brought a case of stolen gemstones. It was barely a six, but Sherlock found it a welcome change after the emotional strain of the previous days, and it felt extremely good to feel confident and in control again. John looked at him with love and admiration in his eyes, and it boosted Sherlock’s self-confidence like nothing else.

The case took two days and there wasn’t much time to focus on anything else, but there was a strange new undercurrent between them now, the knowledge that soon, soon, they would make love. Sherlock certainly wasn’t planning on waiting, even though he knew he could. He wanted to give John what he deserved.

The morning after they wrapped the case up, Sherlock woke up feeling warm and comfortable with John spooned up behind him, his breath ghosting over his neck. Sherlock shuffled closer to him, enjoying the way John’s arm automatically tightened around his waist possessively. It felt lovely, to slowly drift awake into the feeling of being loved and wanted.

Gradually, as Sherlock slowly catalogued every single aspect of the situation that felt good, he became aware that there was John’s erection pressing into his backside. He froze for a moment, but then relaxed almost immediately – this was a normal physiological reaction, quite commonplace in the morning. Additionally, he found that now that he wasn’t worried about being split open by it, the size was quite a turn-on. He shifted experimentally, and felt his own cock react in interest.

“Mmm, morning,” John murmured against his nape, pulling Sherlock in even closer. Sherlock could tell the exact moment John realised what state he was in – he tensed, and immediately started to pull away. 

“Sorry,” he said, embarrassment colouring his voice. Sherlock gripped his hand to make sure he couldn’t get too far.

“It’s okay. Stay.”

John stilled but made sure to keep some distance between his groin and Sherlock’s arse, so Sherlock pushed back determinedly. 

“Sherlock?” John asked hesitantly but he didn’t fight it, letting his hips slot back against Sherlock, rubbing his cock on the plumpness of Sherlock’s buttocks.

“I like this,” Sherlock said quietly, wiggling his hips a little to make his point. “Are you… is it… good for you?” he asked awkwardly.

“Yeah,” John breathed on his neck, then kissed it. “Everything about you feels so good.” He let his hips move in small undulating circles, and Sherlock could actually feel him getting even harder. He brought John’s hand to his lips and kissed it. His heartrate was increasing and it was starting to feel a little too warm under the covers, but it was _good_. He could do this: soft, sleepy rocking beneath the covers, with John kissing his neck and letting out little pleased hums and sighs. He was hard now but not insistently so, and he could easily ignore it in favour of focusing on how John’s body felt against his.

The only real drawback was that, as much as Sherlock liked being held by John, this way he could only hug John’s arm to him, and it was simply not enough. He needed to have John in his arms too, he needed to kiss him. He was going to turn around and let John rut against his thigh instead and –

As his mouth watered at the thought of kissing John, he suddenly became aware of a blatant flaw in his plan: he needed to brush his teeth first. He couldn’t possibly kiss John with his stale mouth. John had said that things Sherlock found embarrassing were probably hot to him, but surely he couldn’t have meant morning breath. Could he? No. And in any case, the thought of John’s nose crinkling at the smell of Sherlock’s breath was enough to make his erection wane rapidly.

Maybe he tensed, because John stilled and stopped kissing him.

“Sherlock? You okay?” he asked gently.

“Sorry,” Sherlock said without thinking, and John let go of him immediately.

“It’s fine,” John said, “I told you, you can have all the time you need.”

“It’s not that,” Sherlock said as he sat up and turned to look at John. “I just need to brush my teeth so that I can kiss you.” John looked so adorably sleep-rumpled that Sherlock almost regretted his decision, but needs must.

“Okay. But you can kiss me anyway, just so you know,” John said with an arched eyebrow, and then stretched languidly, as if to say _look what you’re missing._

Despite how tempting John looked, Sherlock knew he’d just keep worrying about his breath if he didn’t brush his teeth now and that really wouldn’t help him to behave like a functional human being capable of having sex. He slipped to the bathroom and brushed his teeth quickly, and then wet a flannel and wiped down under his arms and between his legs – better safe than sorry.

When he came back to the bedroom John had decided that in fact he needed the bathroom too, so Sherlock was left sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting, so, naturally, he had plenty of time for his nerves to come back. It was different this time, of course, because now he knew he wouldn’t have to go out of his comfort zone to please John, but that didn’t mean he’d be any good.

He fidgeted a little as he waited, trying not worry needlessly. It would be all right. John would guide him. He could trust John.

The door opened and John stood there in only his boxers and Sherlock gaped a little, feasting his eyes on John’s lovely trim figure.

“I think I’ve been promised a kiss,” John said, smirking at him. There seemed to be self-assurance and sexual confidence radiating from him, but when he bent down to kiss Sherlock it was soft and gentle and full of reassurance.

“Let’s lie down, hmm?” John whispered. He guided Sherlock to lie on his back and climbed over him, his knees on either side of Sherlock’s hips, but he kept his body well above Sherlock’s, giving him space. Sherlock let his mouth open under John’s, wanting more of him. As John was supporting his weight on his forearms, he couldn’t be touching Sherlock, and Sherlock found out that he still relied on John’s cues to determine what touches were suitable, and when John wasn’t touching him, he had no lead to follow. He put his hands on John’s waist tentatively.

“Try to stop thinking,” John murmured as he kissed along Sherlock’ jaw, and then moved to press his lips against Sherlock’s forehead. “Let this beautiful brain relax for a moment. Just focus on what it feels like.” His mouth found Sherlock’s again and he kissed him deeply. “Does it feel good?”

Sherlock made a small sound of assent, not really able to speak.

“Good.”

John flipped to his back, pulling Sherlock with him. Sherlock ended up half on top of John and immediately liked the new position as John’s hands found their way to his back.

“Can we take this off?” John asked, tugging at the hem of Sherlock’s t-shirt. Sherlock nodded, and together they clumsily pulled the t-shirt over Sherlock’s head. John grinned at him widely. “You’re adorable with your hair all ruffled, do you know?” 

Sherlock felt like he should object to being called adorable, but couldn’t really muster enough determination to say anything, not with John looking at him like that.

“Adorable and hot,” John added, burying his hands in Sherlock hair to ruffle it even more and bring Sherlock’s head down to kiss him again. John’s tongue was slick and hot as it licked into Sherlock’s mouth, his lips hungry, but nothing about the way he kissed Sherlock felt insistent or demanding – it was more like an offering, all his love and desire laid out for Sherlock to take whatever he wanted from it.

An intense wave of love for John washed over Sherlock and he pressed closer, slotting his thigh between John’s legs, and the way John moaned into his mouth at the sensation sent a wonderful thrill through him.

“Okay?” John panted, clearly having felt the shiver running through Sherlock’s body. He moved one hand to Sherlock’s back, running it up and down in firm, comforting stokes.

“Yes,” Sherlock managed. The position they were in gave him more control on how much of his body came into contact with John, and it seemed like he’d be able to find the right balance between his need for closeness and the necessity to keep the sensations from getting too overwhelming. He was intensely aroused and his skin was tingling, but it felt good. 

He moved his hand over the half of John’s chest he wasn’t lying on top of, partly imitating the movements of John’s hand on his back.

“John.”

“Yes, my love.”

“I want…” 

“Anything. I’m yours, Sherlock. You can have anything you want.”

Breath caught in Sherlock’s throat. He was so lucky. Here he was, with John Watson spread out under him, declaring he was _his_ and making sure to meet Sherlock’s ridiculous needs like they weren’t ridiculous at all.

“I want to make you feel good,” Sherlock rasped and, remembering what John had done to him the first night and how it had felt, he tentatively circled a finger around John’s nipple.

“Oh, you are, love, you’re amazing,” John sighed, tightening his grip on Sherlock’s back. “You feel incredible.”

Emboldened, Sherlock shifted to put his lips to John’s nipples instead. He licked at the little nub, feeling it harden, and it was _amazing_ , to feel John’s body thrumming and flushed with arousal and know it was all for him, that _he_ did that. He only hoped he could manage to give John what he deserved.

He sucked at John’s nipple, delighted by the moan that tore itself from John’s throat, and he let his hand trail down John’s chest to the smooth muscles of his stomach and the dusting of coarse hair that disappeared under the waistband of his pants.

“Yeah, Sherlock,” John gasped, dragging his fingers through Sherlock’s hair, and his hips twitched on the mattress – Sherlock could tell he was restraining himself from thrusting up. Sherlock kissed down to John’s belly and nuzzled against it, enjoying the way its muscles rippled with each of John’s heavy breaths as Sherlock pulled his pants down, letting his erection spring free.

He went back to kissing John’s mouth as he wrapped his fingers around his generous girth, stroking lightly. It was wonderful to be touching John so intimately – he felt incredibly privileged to be allowed to do this, to hold such a vulnerable part of John’s body in his hands and know John wanted him to.

“Hang on,” John said, and Sherlock immediately let go of him, tensing. Had he done something wrong? What had he done wrong?

“Oh no, love, it’s perfect, you’re perfect,” John reassured him immediately, brushing Sherlock’s hair from his forehead. “Don’t worry. Just use some lube.”

Sherlock scrambled to get a bottle off the bedside table as quickly as possible. Stupid, he should have thought of that, why didn’t he think of it? He struggled to flip the cap open in his hurry.

“Sherlock, look at me.”

There was something about John’s tone of voice that made Sherlock lift his gaze to John’s face immediately. John’s pupils were blown wide and his face was flushed and the way he was looking at Sherlock was heart-stopping.

“You’re doing great, Sherlock,” John said, and it suddenly felt like the world around them had come to a standstill. “There’s no rush. All right?”

Sherlock nodded. He uncapped the bottle slowly and squeezed a dollop of lube onto his palm.

“Mm, yeah,” John sighed as Sherlock’s slicked palm wrapped around him. “Just a bit tighter – yeah, like that, so good.”

Sherlock wanted to be kissing John but found that he couldn’t because he was too mesmerised by the sight of John’s cock sliding through his fist to tear his gaze away. John was so hard and hot and he was actually thrusting up minutely as if he couldn’t help it and he was sighing and moaning and Sherlock was doing that, he was giving John pleasure, he was going to _make John come_.

He thought maybe he should be trying to draw it out or just somehow make it better and more interesting than the quick wanks he gave himself but he wasn’t sure how and he couldn’t _think,_ he felt high on being able to give John this. And John didn’t seem to find things too quick or boring anyway, he was clearly enjoying it, head thrown back, eyes screwed shut, encouraging Sherlock to go on.

“Fuck, Sherlock, your hands are amazing, _mmm_ , a little harder now, harder, _ah!_ That’s it, Sherlock, you’re so good, so g—oohhh, yeah.”

Sherlock kept going, pulling at John’s cock relentlessly, noting how John liked a much firmer grip and faster strokes than Sherlock did. And then he knew John was about to come, his breathing sped up, his cock hardened even more in Sherlock’s hand and his hips started to actually lift off the bed and Sherlock sped up his movements, breathless with the need to give John an orgasm, and then suddenly it was there, John froze and groaned and his release spilled over Sherlock’s hand.

Heat rose sharply in Sherlock’s body as he watched John’s climax, blindingly intense, and he felt like was going to come too, he was going to come just from touching John – he keened and gasped and his vision whitened with the force of the sensations that ripped through him. He didn’t actually come, though; instead, he was left painfully hard and panting as he watched the last tendrils of John’s orgasm dissipate. But that didn’t matter – all that mattered was John.

“Sherlock,” John slurred, reaching for Sherlock’s head and pulling him into a kiss. “That was amazing. You’re amazing.”

Sherlock felt himself smile into the kiss – he was almost on the verge of laughing, really, relief and delight filling his every pore because he’d done it, he’d made John come and John had enjoyed it. It may have been just a quick handjob but John had liked it, and besides, it was just the first step: Sherlock would learn to be better and give John more.

“John,” he sighed happily and almost cupped John’s face in both hands before he remembered that one of them was covered in ejaculate and John probably wouldn’t like having it all over his face. Praising his foresight, he reached for the box of tissues on the bedside table and wiped his hand.

“What about you, love?” John asked, nibbling lazily at Sherlock’s earlobe. “What can I do for you?” He stroked down the side of Sherlock’s body, stopping at the waistband of his pyjama bottoms. “Can I touch you?”

“Yes,” Sherlock breathed. Just the thought of John’s hand on his penis was overpowering – John had never actually done that before, not skin on skin, and Sherlock felt himself go a little faint in anticipation as his heartrate increased further and his breathing went shallower – he could barely move as he struggled out of his pyjama bottoms.

“You’re so gorgeous,” John whispered to him as he stroked Sherlock hip and belly soothingly. “Just tell me how you like it.”

And then his hand dipped lower, brushing the dark curls and then landing on Sherlock’s length lightly, wrapping around it.

 _“John!”_ Sherlock cried out and then whimpered shakily, unable to keep it in. John’s fingers felt like they were sending electric shocks through his overly sensitive cock and Sherlock gasped for breath.

“Is this okay? Can I do this?” John asked as he kept his fingers in a loose fist around Sherlock’s cock, not moving until Sherlock agreed to it.

Sherlock nodded, desire pulsing through every fibre of his body, and then John stoked up and down his shaft, very gently, but it still felt like the friction set all of his nerve endings on fire. His testicles felt heavy with the need to come but he couldn’t get a full breath in and every touch felt amplified on his heated skin

“Stop,” Sherlock managed through gritted teeth, “please.”

John let go of him immediately.

“Okay, okay,” he murmured, touching Sherlock’s cheek tenderly. “What is it, love?”

Sherlock shook his head, his eyes tightly closed. “I can’t, it’s—it’s too much, I can’t.”

“Shh,” John whispered to him. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.” He kissed Sherlock’s eyelids lightly and pulled him into a loose hug. Carefully, he arranged them into the position they started in, John on his back with Sherlock partly on top of him, and Sherlock felt immediately better simply because this way he was in John’s arms and he could hear and feel John’s heartbeat.

“What would work for you, darling?” John asked. “Could you maybe… touch yourself? Show me how you like it? Would that be okay?”

While it was true that Sherlock’s own touch was bound to feel far less intense than John’s, Sherlock didn’t think he’d be able to essentially have John watch him masturbate. He shook his head, embarrassed.

“Okay,” John said thoughtfully. “What about this, then?” He shifted a little, pulled Sherlock in a little more and _oh_ , this way John’s thigh came right under Sherlock’s groin, his cock pressing into John’s skin. He gasped and lifted his pelvis a little to alleviate the pressure.

“Could you do that?” John whispered to his ear. “Rub yourself against me, make yourself feel good?” Sherlock felt himself blush at John’s words, but he was too desperate for release to care. Hesitantly, he lowered his hips again, letting his leaking cock smear pre-ejaculate on John’s thigh.

“Yeah, like that,” John encouraged him. “Does it feel good?”

Sherlock could only moan in response. It did feel good – the sensitive underside of his cock slid against John’s skin deliciously and this way he had complete control over the intensity of the friction. He let his hips thrust forward in small movements that nevertheless sent powerful waves of pleasure through his body, one after another.

“There you go, that’s it,” John murmured to him. He kept one hand on Sherlock’s back and the other in his hear, enough to anchor him but not enough to overwhelm. Sherlock buried his face in John’s neck, moaning as he breathed him in and his hips stuttered forward with a little more fervour. “That’s right, you’re brilliant, I love you so much.”

“John, oh, _ohhh!_ ” Sherlock wailed into the crook of John’s neck, moving without conscious thought now, his cock pushing erratically against John’s thigh. He felt ready to burst, utterly desperate to come, the pleasure was nearing its peak and he needed just a little more, just a little more, _just – right – there – please – please – more –_

“Let go, love. I’ve got you, let go.” John kissed his temple, and that was it: Sherlock’s back arched, his hips ramming forward one last time and then something snapped and was coming, shuddering in John arms with helpless moans leaving his lips as he came and came and _came._

He collapsed on top of John, his mind completely blank, his body heavy and boneless. It took a while before the fog in his head cleared enough to register John stoking his hair and murmuring endearments.

“You did so well, love, you were incredible. Are you all right?”

Sherlock grunted, not able to form words or even just nod. John’s arms tightened around him and Sherlock sighed. He felt utterly sated and content, and not just because of his exceptional orgasm, but because he’d given John one too. They had made love, and Sherlock had _done well_. He was safe and loved and he could rest now.

“Thank you, Sherlock,” John said quietly, and he shifted, moving them so their faces would be level and he could look Sherlock in the eye… when Sherlock managed to get his eyes to open. “Thank you so much for letting me experience this with you. You have no idea how much it means to me that you trust me enough to do this. I love you.”

He kissed him, and Sherlock used all his remaining strength to kiss back, hoping to show John without words that he was thankful too, for John’s patience and care and understanding. That John loved him so much would never cease to amaze him.

“We should probably get cleaned up,” John said when they broke apart.

“No,” Sherlock said. He didn’t have any strength to move, and he certainly wasn’t letting John go anywhere. 

“No?” John chuckled, but didn’t protest. He kissed Sherlock’s cheek and pulled him closer, and it was perfect. “I suppose if we end up glued together with come we’ll just have to shower together.”

Sherlock could live with that.


End file.
